Oops. “Sorry I—”
The elevator door opened.
Digging into his laptop bag for his keys, Tucker stepped around Dennis and inside the elevator. He pushed the button to his floor just as his other hand found the keys.
“Tucker, I can’t believe you forgot.” Dennis followed him in before the doors closed. Huffing out a breath, he blew the elegant mahogany-colored forelock off his forehead and threw his hands in the air, letting them fall back to his sides with a slap. His gray eyes narrowed. “You forgot last time too. And the time before that.”
Well damn. The elevator started moving and Tucker glanced above the door at the floor numbers. “Sorry.” That was the best he could do. Offering to go anyway was out of the question. It was too bad about the blowjob though. Floor eighteen. Almost there.
“Sorry? That’s it?”
Come on, floor twenty-one. Tucker jiggled his keys. Maybe he could still talk Dennis into a handjob. It wouldn’t take long, and then he could get to work on the papers he’d brought home. He closed his eyes, trying to recall all the things he had to do before tomorrow morning. He needed to call Roger about the meeting at eight a.m., make sure his secretary sent the contracts to Cliff and check the stocks on Oxy Corp. again.
The chime rang and the doors parted.
Opening his eyes, Tucker headed out of the elevator and to his apartment. “You wanna come in?” He unlocked his apartment door. “I’ll order us some food.” Maybe he’d get Mexican food from the place next door or Italian from the restaurant up the street. He was tired of Chinese. “How about pizza?”
No answer.
“Dennis?”
Still no answer.
Tucker turned.
Dennis stood in the elevator with a frown on his face and hands on his hips. The door started to close, but he stuck his hand out, stopping it, and strode toward Tucker. “That’s it?” He pushed into the apartment past Tucker. “You want to order pizza? And then what?”
Well shit. A handjob wasn’t looking very promising either. Shutting the door, Tucker crossed the room and set his briefcase on the coffee table before depositing his laptop bag on the couch. He turned on the lamp beside the couch and pushed the button to open the vertical blinds. “I said I was sorry. What else do you want from me? I’m hungry and pizza sounds good. I’m ordering some. If you want to eat, fine. If not, that’s fine too.” He loosened his tie and took off his jacket, already bored with this conversation.
“Un-fucking-believable.” Dennis’s voice went so high it almost screeched. “So you aren’t taking me out? Is that what you’re saying?”
After tossing his jacket over the chair closest to him, Tucker unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt. “I’ve got work to—”
“You always have work to do. That’s all you do. Work, work, work. You’re a coldhearted bastard. You don’t give a damn about anything but your fucking job and making money.” He put his hands on his hips again, striking a pose that would make any drama queen envious. “You can’t even take holidays off to go see your own damn family. You never go out, unless it involves business.”
Someone knocked on the door, fizzling Dennis’s show-stopping tantrum.
Relieved at the interruption, Tucker pinched the bridge of his nose and headed across the room. He opened the door and blinked. Dropping his hand from his nose, he blinked again, convinced he was seeing things. No, he wasn’t imagining it. He’d know those lips anywhere. He’d seen that particular chin shadowed by a hat too many times to mistake it.
A smile spread across Tucker’s face and excitement bubbled up inside him before he could quash it. “Micah?”
Micah was taller than the last time Tucker had seen him, leaner too. The black cowboy hat sat low on his head, covering his eyes and emphasizing the soft jaw, angular chin and sensual mouth pressed into a thin line. Something was wrong.
Tucker’s heart sank and dread coiled in his stomach. “Come in.” He grabbed Micah by the hand, noticing his duffle bag for the first time, and tugged Micah inside. Pushing the bag off Micah’s shoulder, Tucker pulled the other man into his arms. “What is it?” He rubbed Micah’s lean back, hoping to abolish some of the tension, and felt the bumps of his spine. He was too thin. “What’s wrong, baby?”
Micah stiffened, then his arms came around Tucker’s waist loosely, almost hesitantly, but it was enough to bring Tucker back to his senses. Thank God. Releasing Micah, Tucker stepped back and tried not to scowl. The endearment had slipped right out, like the most natural thing in the world. “Why are you here?” Well, he hadn’t scowled, but the question had come out pretty clipped. He wouldn’t take it back though.
“I—” Micah winced then cleared his throat. “I came to bring you home.”
“Ahem.” Dennis stepped forward and thrust out his hand. “I’m Dennis Hammond. And you are?”
With red tingeing his cheeks, Micah dipped his head toward Dennis and shook his hand. “Micah Jimenez. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hammond.” He glanced back at Tucker and pulled off his cowboy hat. He brushed a hand through his short black hair and his Adam’s apple bobbed. There were bags under his eyes and he was wearing his glasses.
The impulse to wrap his arms around Micah again was strong, making Tucker frown. He hadn’t seen Micah in four years, not since the night their relationship changed forever. The surge of emotion was swift, powerful and unwelcome. He had to find out what Micah wanted and get rid of him. Fast.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt but—” Glancing at Dennis, Micah swallowed hard again. He twisted the hat brim in his hands, something he’d always done when he was nervous. Glancing back at Tucker, he asked, “Could we have a word in private?”
“I’ll just be going then.” Dennis stepped closer toward the door and consequently Micah. “Well good luck to you, Micah Jimenez. I don’t know who you are, but maybe you’ll have better luck than I did. See you around, Tucker.”
Damn it, of all the people in the world to witness Dennis leaving like this, it would have to be Micah. Forcing himself to unclench his jaw, Tucker tried to act as if being dumped was no big deal. “Dennis—”
“No. I can’t deal with this anymore. The sex was as phenomenal as everyone said, but you take too much and give too…” he glanced back at Micah and his brow furrowed, “…give too little.” After shaking his head, he made eye contact with Tucker. “I can’t do this.” He opened the door. “If you ever want more, call me.” And shut it quietly behind him.
Dragging his tie off his neck, Tucker winced. Guess that’s a no on the handjob? Holy shit. He wanted to punch something. It was a scary thought. Everything he did was with a calm, calculating tenacity that served him and his interests well. He’d learned long ago not to show his hand. Was that being a coldhearted bastard? And why the hell did seeing Micah after all this time have him off kilter? When he turned back, Micah was still standing in the same spot with his eyes as big as saucers, and Tucker’s temper eased before it could really get going.
“Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just—”
Tucker dropped his tie on top of his coat. No way in hell was he going to let Micah see the effect his presence had on him. “You didn’t. I was trying to figure out how to get rid of him when you showed up.” As Tucker headed toward the kitchen, he picked up the phone and punched the number two speed-dial button. “Still like pepperoni and olives on your pizza?” Micah could stand to gain a few pounds.
“Tucker?”
Tucker grabbed two beers out of the fridge as he ordered the pizza. How long had Dennis lasted? Two months? Three? Ouch. Tucker didn’t know. He tried to muster up regret, but there was nothing. Not a damn thing. Tossing the phone on the couch, he flopped down next to it. He set his beer on the table before holding the other out to Micah. “Come sit down.”
Micah came around the adjacent loveseat and sat, placing his hat beside him. He appeared dead on his feet. Had he driven the six hours straight from the ranch? “Did you get AJ�
�s call?”
“I’ve been out of town until this morning. My secretary left me some messages but I haven’t had a chance to look at them. What’s wro—?” Granddad had cancer. Oh no. Tucker had meant to go home. He’d wanted to see Granddad one last time. Tears brimmed in his eyes and pain lanced through him, like the time he’d fallen off his horse and flat onto his back when he was five. He took a drink of his beer, letting the tangy flavor hang in his mouth a little before swallowing. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“No! No, he’s still hanging on. It’s not going to be long though. But that’s not why I came. Well, no, it sort of is, but it’s not entirely why I came. I need—” Micah leaned his elbows on his knees and dropped his head, peering at the floor.
Tucker turned away. Why did being near Micah after all this time make Tucker feel so off balance? Damn him. Tucker had never been able to resist his protective instincts where Micah was concerned. Why hadn’t AJ or Dad come to get him instead?
Micah glanced up, his eyes heavy lidded. The memories of that night came rushing back to Tucker. Micah’s blissful face as Tucker sank into him, Micah’s teary eyes when he begged Tucker not to go. The rush of guilt assailed Tucker just like it had as he drove away from The Bar D that last time.
After a few seconds, Micah ran his hands over his face. His complexion had grown a little paler than before, or maybe the shadows under his eyes were just more pronounced in the lamplight. “I found his will the other day on the computer and your uncle has been emailing me every other day insisting I turn things over to him and—” Unshed tears shimmered in his eyes. “I can’t sit by and let the ranch go under…or worse, go to your uncle, but I don’t know what to do.”
Whoa. Wait a minute. Duncan? Rage built up inside Tucker and he had to fight to keep it from boiling over. “What do you mean go to my un—” God, he couldn’t even say it. He didn’t want to admit to that relation. “Duncan? Granddad wouldn’t—” Last time Tucker had talked to AJ—what was it, a month ago now?—AJ had said he was taking over as foreman and Micah was acting ranch manager. It had sounded like everything was running smoothly. Micah had always been a smart little thing, and Tucker remembered thinking it was a good choice, so what had happened? Where the fuck did Duncan fit into this?
“I wouldn’t have thought so either, but the way Granddad’s will reads it’s possible your uncle could get the ranch. I need you to look into it. It’s worded strangely, as if that condition in the will only applies to your dad, you and AJ, but…Duncan is the oldest son. I don’t have the money to hire a lawyer to look at it and Ferguson isn’t in any shape to discuss it.”
“Over my dead body will that son of a bitch get his hands on The Bar D.” Tucker stood, heading over to the window. “Tell me what’s what with the ranch.” He winced at the bite in his voice. This wasn’t Micah’s fault, but the very idea of Tucker’s treacherous unc—Duncan getting his hands on the ranch did not sit well.
“We’re in over our heads with your grandfather’s medical bills. I’ve tried anything and everything I can think of and have managed most of our debt, but with the economy like it is… We need an investor or there won’t be a ranch to be passed down.” His voice cracked a little. “That’s why I’m here. I—we need your help, Tucker.”
Tucker stared at the reflection of Micah in the glass, watching Micah’s shoulders slump. He wanted to ask why they hadn’t come to him sooner, but he knew. With the way he’d left, asking his help would be the last thing Micah would want to do. And who could blame him? Micah was such a proud thing. It wouldn’t matter to him in the least that he was asking for help for Tucker’s own family, it would still sting. The money situation must be worse than Micah was letting on for him to ask Tucker’s help after everything that happened between them. But Tucker knew Micah well enough to know he’d swallow his pride and come for help, even from Tucker, rather than risk the ranch being stripped from its rightful owners.
“You have it,” he said softly, hoping to encourage Micah to continue. No matter the past, Tucker would never sit by while Micah—or his family—needed.
Micah heaved a sigh, looking slightly relieved. His gaze was on the carpet, unaware Tucker was watching him. Had Micah thought Tucker would refuse to help? It hurt, but Tucker supposed he understood why Micah would think that.
“I feel like a first-rate shitheel for reading that will, but we’re barely keeping our heads above water. I managed to pay off the yearly taxes, but there’s nothing left. I had to do something, see if there was money somewhere else. Ferguson fades in and out, but the few times I’ve asked about other accounts he’s said there aren’t any. I was hoping that maybe there was something in the will. I figured it would all be left to your dad, but…I just don’t know.”
That’s what Tucker had thought. He’d known instinctively Micah would have done everything possible to keep the ranch going. Forcing his focus away from Micah’s reflection, Tucker stared out at the Dallas sky. It was beautiful and the best view money could buy, but he rarely saw it. With Micah here, so close, Tucker had to wonder if leaving The Bar D had been worth it. Groaning, he rested his forehead on the glass and closed his eyes. It didn’t matter, because he couldn’t go back. Right or wrong, he’d made his decision years ago. “Tell me what’s in the will, Micah.”
“I’d rather show you. I’m afraid it won’t hold up in court. I don’t know what Ferguson was thinking, but— Do you have a computer? I brought a USB drive with me.”
No way was Tucker going to stand by and watch his egg donor and Dun— “Is he still with her?” What must Dad be feeling about all this? Tucker’s heart hurt for him.
“I don’t know if she’s still around. His notes have been terse and demanding. Her name hasn’t come up. I haven’t told Je—your dad about the emails.” Micah’s voice trailed off like he’d moved farther away. “From what the will says—” There was rustling. “It looks like Duncan could get the ranch, even though it specifically names your dad, you and AJ in regards to the ranch.” Micah touched Tucker’s back, then held his hand out over Tucker’s shoulder. “Here. I haven’t said anything to AJ or your dad about the will. I didn’t want to hurt them any more than they’re already hurting. It’s bad enough that Ferguson wants to see Duncan one last time, but I’ll be damned if I add this to their grief.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tucker opened his eyes and lifted his head off the cool glass. He grabbed Micah’s hand and held on to it for a few seconds. Extracting the thumb drive from Micah’s palm, Tucker felt the calluses before his hand slid away.
Standing so close Tucker could feel the heat of his body, Micah yawned. “It’s a nice view, but there’re no stars.”
Tucker sighed. It didn’t surprise him that Micah had noticed the lack of stars. Micah had always been a hopeless romantic.
Leaning back on the couch, Tucker read the will and took a bite of pizza. What in the hell could his granddad possibly be thinking? “This can’t be real. He wants to leave the ranch to the first of us to marry?” Tucker swigged his beer. “It’s even worded where it doesn’t have to be a marriage legal in Texas or even the U.S., just a legal civil union. Technically, I could marry another man and inherit.” Now that he thought about it, maybe granddad had done this on purpose since he knew Tucker was gay. It didn’t matter, because Tucker would get his lawyer on this right away. “Are you sure he was of sound mind?”
After a few seconds when Micah didn’t say anything, Tucker glanced over at him.
Lips tightly pressed together, Micah sat on the loveseat adjacent to the couch with a plate on his lap. A can of Dr. Pepper sat untouched on the coffee table in front of him. His hand rested in the middle of his chest over his breastbone and his eyes were closed. There was a gray pallor to his normally tan skin.
Tucker’s chest tightened and the protective feelings he’d always had where Micah was concerned surfaced. He tried to dismiss it, but he couldn’t help but think Micah didn’t seem quite right. “Micah?”
<
br /> With a start, Micah opened his eyes. “What?”
“Are you all right?” Tucker sat forward, putting his half-eaten slice of pizza on the empty plate beside his laptop.
Micah didn’t look okay. Besides being tired and too thin, Micah had bloodshot eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.” Micah winced and pressed against his chest.
Glancing down at Micah’s plate, Tucker realized he hadn’t even touched his food. “Eat your food. You drove straight here. That’s a six-hour drive. I want you to eat, then go to sleep.”
Micah’s eyes quickly narrowed into a hard glare. “Don’t tell me what—” After taking a deep breath, Micah lowered his voice. “Jeff fixed us all a big breakfast this morning and I’m not that tired. I’ll probably head back out to the ranch tonight.” He set his plate on the table and rubbed absently at his chest. “After you look at that, I mean.”
For several seconds, Tucker just stared, almost disappointed that Micah had backed down. That fiery Latino temper was something else. “I’ll look at the finances in a bit, but right now I want you to eat and get some rest. You look like hell.” No fucking way was Tucker letting him drive back tonight. “I’ll go to the ranch with you tomorrow morning so I can see Granddad. I have a meeting tomorrow but I’m going to cancel it. This is more important.”
Micah squeezed his eyes together and a small moan escaped. “I don’t feel like
eati—” His eyes flew open and he jumped to his feet. “Bathroom?”
Shit. Tucker bolted around the couch and down the hall. “Here.” He pushed open the bathroom door a split second before Micah darted past him.
Skidding to a halt in front of the toilet, Micah vomited. Or tried to, not much came up. “Sorry.” Micah dropped to his knees and rested his head on the rim of the bowl.
“Don’t be silly. You’ve nothing to apologize for, but you definitely aren’t going anywhere tonight.” Damn. As soon as Micah dozed off, Tucker was going to call Dad and AJ and ream their asses out for letting Micah drive all the way here by himself. Tucker needed to go home for a bit just to make sure the kid was taking care of himself. After wetting a washcloth, Tucker carried it to Micah. “Micah.”
His Convenient Husband Page 2